The Gospel Miracles :: :: University of Virginia Library

“How dar'st thou profane by thy labour the rest,
Which Israel's lawgiver hallow'd and blest?
How treat the decree of the prophet with scorn,
On the Sabbath thy load thro' Jerusalem borne?”—
Thus the Jews into wrath at the passenger broke:
Thus mildly in answer the passenger spoke.

“By the Pool of Bethesda, (O, blest be the name,
Which with reason that mansion of mercy may claim!)
By the Pool of Bethesda a cripple I lay;
And beside, where its arches o'ershadow the way,
A crowd of the wither'd, the blind, and the lame,
Akin our afflictions, our wishes the same.

“For at seasons, as oft hath Jerusalem seen,
The pool is disturb'd from its surface serene;
An angel, as erst in our days of renown,
Comes, 'tis said, on that merciful ministry down;
And the son of affliction, the first who can lave,
Rises active and strong from the health-giving wave.

“Three years past the half of mortality's span,
The threescore and ten now allotted to man,
Have witness'd my sorrows; and still by the side
Of the pool have I linger'd, and anxiously eyed
The face of the water, and still o'er the brim
On each motion drew forward my impotent limb.

“But diseas'd as I was, and all destitute too,
Unassisted, unfriended, ah! what could I do?
Or ere my weak frame to the water could creep,
Some happier rival had taken the leap,
And left me to pine, as he bounded away,
Still to sickness and hope disappointed a prey.

“But ev'n now, while benignity beam'd in his eye,
Thro' the porticoed passage a stranger drew nigh;
And kindly he ask'd if I wish'd for relief;
And I told him my tale of disaster and grief;
And, ‘Rise, take thy couch, and go homeward,’ he said;
And I rose, and I go, and I carry my bed.

“He hath said of my body, ‘Behold, thou art whole:’
He hath spoken the language of peace to my soul,
‘Sin no more, lest a greater affliction thou bear:’
His might I acknowledge; and how shall I err,
If to Him, who can nature's infirmities sway,
My will I surrender, his mandate obey?”

The accusers are answer'd: the accused is clear:
The record remains, leaving sweet on the ear
The name of Bethesda, which brings to the mind
The Lord of the Sabbath, the Health of mankind,
The Resource of the weak in abandonment's hour,
The Dispenser of mercy, the Wielder of pow'r.

The pool of Bethesda is broken and dry,
In ruins its arches and porticoes lie;
And Siloa's brook, which wont softly to go
From the mountain of God to the basin below,
To the eye of the pilgrim uncertainly shews
The spot where “the Mansion of Mercy” arose.

But a Salem there is, where the streams of the flood
Still continue to flow from the mountain of God:
Where a mansion of mercy each patient invites,
And a pool of Bethesda each comer delights;
And the weak, and the wither'd, the halt, and the blind,
Who seek for a refuge, a refuge may find.

Not one, here and there, now and then, is reliev'd;
All who suffer, are call'd; all who come, are receiv'd:

On the pool, lo! the Angel his virtue has shed,
He who order'd the impotent man from his bed:
Disease at the voice of his summoning flies,
And the sick, when he bids them be healed, arise.

That house of relief is the Church of his grace,
On Apostles and Prophets is rested its base,
Compact with the blood which his martyrs have shed,
And Himself of the corner the strength and the head;
God there thro' his Spirit takes pleasure to dwell,
Nor prosper against it the portals of hell.

That pool, rich in health, is the life-giving fount,
Which the Spirit pours forth from the foot of the mount:
The bath, where his children are wash'd from their stain;
The well, which they drink from, and thirst not again;
The well-water'd soil, where, as trees by the spring,
In its season their fruit to perfection they bring.

That house be my dwelling, that pool my retreat,
In a world where corruption hath planted her seat;
My cleanser from guilt, my protector from sin,
My shield from temptation without and within;
Thro' the dear might of him, who can say to the soul,
“Arise, and go forward: behold, thou art whole!”

Till another Jerusalem gladden my sight,
Where God's glory in visible splendour shall light;
And another Bethesda enliven the scene,
Where God his pavilion shall 'stablish with men;
Who, with robes in the blood of the Sinless made white,
Shall serve in his temple by day and by night.

Nor sin, nor defilement, nor sickness, nor care,
But sanctity pure, bliss unmingled, are there:
There clear, as the crystal's transparency, flows
The river of life thro' the groves of repose,

Pour'd forth from the mount of the living I am,
The throne everlasting of God and the Lamb.